At Least I Had To Lie About It

I was chattering at D. last night, and somehow we always manage to end up on the topic of music. This is generally better than the topic of the reality TV shows I watch, where he balefully exclaims his eternal horror and lack of respect for me. If I ever get him in a room with me and Rock of Love Bus, I can guarantee that he'll change his tune.

Anyhoo...

I was about 14 or so, and a fledgling dangerous goth girl, prone to listening to depressing music by say, Depeche Mode. Yeah, OK, I was diving into the deep end with some New Order, gasp Joy Division, and then treading water with Siouxsie and the Banshees. I was a cute little blonde thing with a perm back then. (I wish I could find the photos too. Priceless.) So my friends Amy and Serena, and their friend Andrew (my first gay! w00t!) hatched a plan to go see Siouxsie.

The other three didn't have to lie to their parents. Amy's folks were the ones who drove us. Serena's mom was pretty chill by then (that's a story for another time), and Andrew was so obsessed with Siouxsie that had his folks even said no, it wouldn't have made a difference. I, however, had to lie through my teeth to my mother to get to go. I told her it was Amy's birthday and she was having a slumber party.

In our eternal wisdom, the kind that comes from being a teenager, we decided to dye my hair black. Now, I was a blonde due to liberal application of Sun-In, and the perm didn't do a whole lot to make my hair stronger. I bought a bottle of the old-lady dye, the kind in the silver bottle conveniently located near the bluing. And Amy and I did it, we got my hair that gorgeous color of shoe polish, and straight. (Apparently no other chemical can withstand the power of the old-lady dye.)

The next day, we tried to wash the black out of my hair. I must've washed my hair twenty times, and it just turned a weird shade of green-grey. Can you imagine the look on Momma's face when she saw me? I told her we had gotten into a hair-dye fight, and bless her heart, she believed me. She took me off to Fantastic Sam's (YEAH!) to get my hair fixed. Many chemical applications and screams of pain later (I'm tender-headed, people!) I had hair that was dark, dark brown but glowed purple in sunlight.

I was the happiest lil' goth girl ever. Momma did not find this nearly as fabulous as I did. Moral of the story: I still have hair, lying was good 'cos I got to see Siouxsie and get a goth color, and I cannot keep to a point on a bet.